


Bonus Materials

by TurtleTotem



Series: The Better Men [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: (or at least library make-outs), Christmas, Cuddling and Snuggling, First Time, Frottage, Hurt/Comfort, Library Sex, M/M, Nightmares, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-01-01
Updated: 2015-02-28
Packaged: 2017-10-31 23:50:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 7,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/349676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TurtleTotem/pseuds/TurtleTotem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Various extras and "deleted scenes" from <i>The Better Men.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fourth Year -- Christmas

FOURTH YEAR -- CHRISTMAS

_Note on Erik's Jewishness, or lack thereof in this fic: Though I'm generally loathe to set aside something so essential to his character, I feel that JKR went to great pains to avoid mixing magic and religion, and I feel it's in poor taste to contradict that. We knows wizards celebrate a secular Christmas, and that is all we know. So you won't see any Menorahs here, just like you won't see any nativity sets, in the interest of not bringing religion into the HP universe._

 

 

Eight days after their first kiss, Charles and Erik left together for the Christmas holiday. They spent the train ride cuddled up together by the window, Charles talking non-stop about all the things they were going to do - decorate the three house Christmas trees, bake cookies, have snowball fights - while Erik watched his enthusiastic hand motions with a sleepy smile, occasionally reaching out to pet his hair. Somehow he just couldn’t muster the energy for much else.

The taxi cab that carried them from the train station to the Xavier estate provided more privacy than the train, and Charles dared to put an arm around Erik's waist and lean in for a kiss.

The moment their lips touched, he knew Erik had a fever.

 

 

Charles spent the first three days of the Christmas holiday at Erik's bedside, plying him with aspirins and cough drops and damp cloths, tipping soup down his throat spoon by spoon, bringing more blankets when Erik shivered with fever.

"It's just a cold," Erik grumbled at least twice a day, "I'm perfectly fine, you're being silly." The effort of talking would, like as not, spark a coughing fit that left him breathless and actually _whimpering_ with pain. Then he'd lean into Charles's hand as it stroked his hair, and ask for more soup.

 

 

The fourth day, Charles woke with a high-pitched whine of a headache and a swollen scratchiness in his throat. It took about three hours for Erik to catch on.

"Charles," he said, catching Charles's wrist as he pressed another glass of orange juice on him. "You have a fever."

"I'm fine. _You're_ the sick one." It was a very inconvenient time for him to break into a hacking cough.

With more strength than Charles expected from such a very ill young man, Erik tugged him down into the bed and wrapped himself around him.

"Stop it, I'm supposed to be taking care of you," Charles whined.

"Be quiet and drink your orange juice."

"That would be a lot easier if you let me sit up."

Erik tightened his grip, threw a leg around Charles's hip. "You'll figure out a way."

Charles grumbled and muttered and drank the orange juice sideways, through a coffee stirrer left over from last night's hot chocolate. "Satisfied?"

"How's your throat?"

"Terrible," he admitted.

Erik pulled Charles around until they were facing each other, then planted a kiss just below his Adam's apple. "That better?"

Charles shivered, for reasons entirely unconnected to his fever, but Erik seemed to take it as a cue to wrap him up tight again, running his fingers through Charles's hair and down his back in long, gentle strokes.

The fever had Charles's skin hot and crawling _all over_ , and the physical contact was astonishingly helpful; so much so that, to his horror, Charles felt his eyes tearing up. He tried to smother a sniffle.

"Charles?" Erik sounded alarmed.

"It's all right, I'm fine, I just..." He managed a watery laugh, and tried to pretend it didn't trail away into a whimper. "That feels really good."

Erik pressed a kiss to the top of his head, and kept stroking his back until he fell asleep.

When he woke, Erik was offering him a bowl of soup.

 

 

Their symptoms gradually settled into a state of low-key misery, still coughing and sniffling and aching but fever-free. They were able to do at least a few of Charles's so-eagerly-planned activities, in fits and starts separated by long periods of whimpering bed rest. They decorated one Christmas tree, helped the gardener hang up lights, made snow angels, and drove the cook to distraction with their attempt to make cookies.

Charles's parents, as far as Erik could tell, had yet to notice their son was ill. They were unfailingly generous and kind, when their attention happened to land on either boy, but somehow their eyes never seemed to quite focus on them.

The one time Erik seemed to attract their whole attention was when he mentioned a spell they learned at school. Both parents visibly flinched.

"Father's a scientist," Charles said later, sleepily, as they curled up together in his bed. "Magic offends his sensibilities, dislodges his whole philosophy of life. And Mother, she, um." He waved a hand vaguely. "Society, you know."

"No, I don't know. What about society?"

"I'm _weird_ ," Charles said, without any particular malice. "She can't go telling her friends her son's a _wizard_ , now can she? It was bad enough when weird things just happened around me a lot, now she knows they actually _were_ my fault. She still loves me, you know." He huffed a laugh against Erik's collarbone. "Loves her weird little baby, just wishes he was more respectable."

Respectable. How very English, that word, equating 'worthy of respect' to 'socially conventional.' "Well, I think you're extremely respectable," Erik said, and hooked a leg around Charles to drag him closer.

On Christmas Eve, Charles seemed to regress to age six before Erik's eyes, dashing about giddily, setting out cookies and milk for Father Christmas, putting up stockings, singing carols loudly and off-key (in between coughs).

He passed Erik on the stairs, slippered feet sliding on the hardwood, and Erik grabbed his arm. "Slow down before you break yourself," he said, about equally exasperated and amused. "Are you always this enthusiastic about Christmas?"

"No, actually," Charles said. His smile was almost wide enough to make his wheezing less alarming. "There's not usually much cause. Mum and Dad aren't much for merry-making, really."

"Then why--"

Charles kissed him, light and quick with a distinct _smack_ ing sound, and dashed off again before Erik could react.

 

 

He woke Erik at the first hint of dawn, actually _bouncing_ on the bed. Babbling happy nonsense that Erik's groggy mind could not begin to follow, he herded Erik and his own stumbling parents downstairs to the Christmas tree.

The cookies were gone, the stockings were overflowing, the tree was lit, and underneath it was an ocean of gifts like Erik had never seen before. Charles was just _looking_ at them, starstruck, the Christmas lights glinting in his eyes, and it was all Erik could do not to kiss him right there, audience or no audience.

And speaking of Charles's parents, Erik already knew they would never be his favorite people. But he had to admit, they were apparently very good at _buying stuff,_ and both looked a little misty-eyed to see their largesse received with such enthusiasm.

Erik settled back to watch Charles dive into his gifts, but Charles only motioned him forward impatiently, and Erik's brain finally woke up enough to make sense of his words.

"—and there's a few for Raven over there, but all those on that side are yours, Erik, and here's your stocking, that's mostly candy—"

"Wait." A sort of blank horror came over Erik. "Wait. Mine? What?"

"But don't open them yet! I want you to open mine first." Face glowing, he pressed a box, roughly the size of a book, wrapped in green-and-red-striped paper, into Erik's hands.

"But," Erik said, glancing abjectly at the Xaviers, why had they bought him _all this stuff_ , "Charles, I – I can't, I didn't get you anything – I had thought we might go out to the shops but then we got sick and I—" He frantically fought back the tears that tried to prickle in his eyes.

"Oh, Erik." Charles leaned forward to hug him, the present trapped momentarily between them. "Erik, just you _being_ here is my present, the best one I'm going to get no matter what's under the tree. Now go on, open it."

Erik just stared at him for a moment, beginning to suspect that he would never be able to say no to those eyes. With trembling hands, he tore the paper, opened the box.

A pair of gloves, soft light-brown leather decorated with black stitching, lined with fur on the inside. They were beautiful, probably very expensive, doubtless very warm. Erik didn't care, wouldn't have cared if the box had held a crayon drawing and used gum if it came from Charles, but they _were_ beautiful.

"Now you won't have to steal mine all the time and stretch them out," Charles teased. "I hope I got the size right. I traced your hand while you were asleep – you sleep like dead thing, my friend. Try them on, try them on!"

They did fit, perfectly, and were warm enough that inside the well-heated house Erik's hands immediately broke into a sweat.

Charles threaded their fingers together, half-felt through the gloves. "There. Perfect."

Erik glanced sideways at Charles's parents; finding Mrs. Xavier headed to the kitchen with her coffee mug and Mr. Xavier peering intently at the little device he called Blackberry, he dared to lift Charles's hand to his lips and kiss the knuckles. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Charles said, turning pink from the hairline down. "Now come on, these gifts aren't going to open themselves!"

 

 

They fell into bed that night exhausted and aching.

"I think my fragile constitution is overcome," Charles muttered through a yawn, pulling Erik's arms tight around him.

Erik snorted. "I'm sure it is, Charles. It's been a long day of doing nothing whatsoever."

Of course that wasn't at all correct. After opening their respective mountains of gifts – mostly clothes for Erik, and much appreciated, shirts and trousers and even underthings, a pair of boots and a coat, even a _pocketwatch_ ; books for Charles, mostly scientific in nature, and a plethora of fascinating little electronic gewgaws that weren't going to work at Hogwarts – they had spent the day in a flurry of eating and talking and trying out their new things. Charles had demanded Erik model every single item of clothing he'd received, laughing as Erik blushed all the while. They'd even had a snowball fight, which resulted in a magnificent bruise to Erik's forehead which Charles insisted on kissing better.

It was the best Christmas Day -- possibly the best _day_ \-- Erik could remember.

"Thank you. For everything," he murmured into Charles's hair.

"You're welcome for everything," Charles replied, sleepily amused. He turned in Erik's arms, just enough to kiss his jaw. "G'night. Love you."

After a thunderstruck moment, in which Charles remained perfectly relaxed, seemingly unaware that he'd said anything of import, Erik tightened his arms around him and said, "I love you too."

Charles gave a happy little hum and fell asleep, Erik following swiftly after.


	2. Shark Attack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik keeps Charles company during detention.

SIXTH YEAR

The only sound in the library was the squeak of the cart's wheels as Charles pushed it down the aisle, scanning the shelves for the proper place to put the book in his hand. He'd been scanning for fifteen minutes, because _of course_ wizards didn't use the Dewey Decimal system, but rather a bizarre and incomprehensible amalgam of letters, numbers, and runes, and _of course_ Charles was stuck in here trying to decipher it instead of at the Gryffindor/Hufflepuff Quidditch game with everyone else, because _of course_ he'd been the one to get caught out after curfew while Erik got off scot-free.

 _There._ He was almost certain the book went _there,_ on a shelf a couple feet overhead. It slipped from his hand as he tried to lever it onto the high shelf, and hit the floor with a BANG that left him gasping and clutching his chest. He could see the Daily Prophet headline already. _Student dead of apparent heart attack in Hogwarts library. Took his best friend four days to notice._

Best friend, not boyfriend, because even if he _died_ Erik would never let it slip...

Charles took a deep breath, tried to let frustration and resentment drain out with the exhale. Stewing in negative emotions did no one any good. He picked up the dropped book and stretched on tiptoe, just a little further...

Was that a footstep?

Charles froze in place, abruptly very aware of how alone he was, of how long it might take to summon help if he needed it. Which was stupid, this was _Hogwarts_ , no one was going to hurt him, and it wasn't like he went around making enemies...

That was definitely a footstep.

The shelves in this section were open-backed, you could peer over the books and look into the next aisle, and the next and the next. Charles squinted in one direction, then the other -- caught a flash of movement. Dark robes.

Blue-green eyes. Toothy grin.

Charles groaned softly and let his head fall forward against the shelf. _I'm being stalked by a shark._

Determinedly, he return to shelving the book -- finally managed it -- and moved on to the next. He made it down three aisles, ignoring the footsteps that shadowed his, ignoring the way his pulse was picking up, before he came across a book that belonged even higher than the first one. He stretched until his calf muscles burned, but simply could not reach the shelf.

"Let me help you with that," a sly, silky voice murmured into his ear, and Erik, pressed against his back, plucked the book from his hand and slid it effortlessly into place. He did not, thereafter, move away, but kept Charles crowded against the bookcase.

"I'm trying to get some work done here, Erik," Charles muttered, making no attempt to turn around. "It's called detention. That's what happens when you're caught outside your dorm at night _and get left behind in the pitch dark._ "

"Charles, I swear, I didn't mean to leave you. I thought you were right behind me." Erik didn't sound smug anymore, he sounded miserable. Not that he was above putting on the puppy-eyes _forgive me_ act. Charles tried to remain unmoved.

"You didn't exactly come rescue me, though, did you? Left me to take the fall alone."

"Oh, come on, what good would it do for both of us to get a mark on our records? It wouldn't have helped you." He wrapped his arms around Charles's waist, chin tucked against his shoulder. "But I _am_ sorry. So I'm right here, helping you with your detention instead of watching the game."

"Oh, yes, you're being a fat lot of help."

"I shelved that book for you."

"And now you won't let me get to any of the others." He squirmed, experimentally, and sure enough, Erik's grip tightened so he couldn't get away.

"You've been working so hard," Erik said, and Charles could hear the grin in his voice, "I'm just making sure you take a minute to rest."

"Minute's over."

"Not just yet."

And Charles knew he was melting back against Erik, quite counterproductively, he couldn't help it, it felt so _good_. It felt even better when Erik started nuzzling and lipping at his ear.

"Erik, go away, you're going to get me into trouble. _More_ trouble," Charles whined, and leaned into the sensation.

Erik chuckled against his skin and started wandering, kissing and nibbling his way slowly from behind Charles's ear all down his throat and jaw, hitting all the best spots, all the places guaranteed to get Charles's hair standing on end and completely derail his train of thought. One of the arms around Charles's waist migrated upward, hand splayed across his chest. The other hand, Charles realized, was sliding _down,_ and that _really couldn't happen here_ but Charles felt helpless to stop it, completely turned to putty, his head tipped back onto Erik's shoulder and his hands twisting in the robe fabric over Erik's thighs.

"Xavier?"

They both straightened with a jolt. _Madam Pince._

"Hide," Charles hissed, but Erik was already going, ducking into the next section. He threw a brilliant grin over his shoulder before he disappeared, and Charles had to fight down a dopey smile as Madam Pince's footsteps grew swiftly near.

It wasn't the only thing he was going to have to fight down, Merlin's _balls_ , maybe she wouldn't notice--

"Xavier, are you all right?" Madam Pince said, looking huffy.

"What? Yes, I'm fine," Charles said, mustering every ounce of wide-eyed innocence his features had to offer.

"You sounded like you were hurt."

Charles felt his face wash scarlet; he hadn't been aware of making any sound. He coughed, trying to cover the strangled laugh in the next section.

"Wasn't that you?" Madam Pince pressed.

"Er, yes, I, ah, I stubbed my toe earlier. But it's fine now." He smiled brightly, let his fingers fidget over the books on the cart, as if itching to get back to work.

She narrowed her eyes at him and sniffed. "Well, learn some stoicism, boy, don't carry on moaning and whimpering over a stubbed toe. Go to Madam Pomfrey if you need to, shake it off and get back to work if you don't."

"Yes, ma'am."

"And remember there's three more carts of that, your detention's not over until they're all shelved."

"Yes, ma'am."

She stared at him narrow-eyed a moment more, suspicious, then sniffed again and strode away.

Once she was gone, Erik slipped back to his side, and they both frantically muffled their laughter in each other's shoulders.

"You pull yourself together and help me shelve these monsters," Charles gasped, "or next time we're out at night, I'm tripping you the moment we see torches."

"Fair enough," Erik said, and leaned in to steal a kiss before pulling a book from the cart.


	3. Nightmares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Erik and Charles comfort each other.

THREE MONTHS AFTER "THE BETTER MEN"

Charles was usually a heavy sleeper, but being flipped onto his back and pawed at did tend to wake one.

"Erik, _what_ \--"

"You're all right." Erik's relief was palpable as he sagged down onto the mattress at Charles's side. "You're all right." He kept a hand pressed to Charles's chest -- against his heartbeat.

"Of course I'm all right." Charles fought his way through the curtain of sleep, enough to realize what was happening, what had happened. "Oh, love. Same nightmare."

Erik nodded. He was shivering.

Charles curled one hand over the one on his chest, carded the other through Erik's hair. "I'm fine, Erik, I'm safe, I'm right here with you and I always will be, Erik, I will always be right here."

Erik let out a shaky breath against his shoulder. "I could -- I could feel it slowing down against my hand -- stopping -- there was nothing I could do, _nothing_."

"Feel it now, Erik, strong as ever." He pressed Erik's hand harder against his heartbeat. They both knew that Erik's recurrent nightmare was not even a realistic depiction of how the death curse would have worked -- Charles would have been stone dead before he hit the floor, none of this gradual stopping -- and he wondered if Erik's subconscious changed the scenario as a punishment, to draw out the agony, or because Erik's mind simply could not, on any level, cope with a loss that sudden. "I'm safe, Erik," he would say it as many times as he had to, until Erik stopped shaking, "I'm all right, it didn't happen."

"It could have. It nearly did."

"But it didn't. That moment has passed, it will never come again, and I survived it." Still Erik trembled, clinging, and Charles let out a breath, half-thoughtful, half-exasperated. "Turn over."

"What? Why?"

"Because I never get to be big spoon and you could stand to be cuddled. Now turn over."

Bemused, Erik did so. Charles wrapped his arms tight around him from behind, forehead touching the nape of his neck, pressed his heartbeat against Erik's back. "Here, pull my leg up over -- yes. How's that?"

"Nice," Erik admitted, one arm overlapping the ones around his chest, the other -- Charles could just make out the lump in the covers -- laid along Charles's thigh, pulled up over his hip.

"Good." Charles kissed the back of his neck. "Now go to sleep."

It took a long while, but eventually Erik's breathing slowed and deepened, his body relaxing against Charles's.

It took even longer for Charles to sleep, fighting down the echo of Sebastian Shaw's voice, and the memory-pain arcing up from the small of his back. 

 

 

 

 

SIX MONTHS AFTER "THE BETTER MEN"

 

Erik was a light sleeper, and it took only one half-smothered sob to snap him into full wakefulness. "Charles?"

"It's all right, Erik. I'm fine." Charles's voice was hoarse and shaky, and Erik wasn't fooled for a moment. He rolled over and carefully gathered Charles into his arms.

"Charles, are you hurt?"

"No. I just... had a dream, it was just a dream."

"Tell me about it."

Charles didn't reply.

"It helps, sometimes, to talk about a bad dream," Erik reminded dryly.

"It wasn't a bad dream. Until I woke up." His attempt at laughter was painful to hear. "I dreamed I was walking, Erik, _running_. Running through the grass in the sunlight, running to you... Dreamed that I just -- woke up and was healed, everything had simply fixed itself. And then I really woke, and I couldn't even roll over." Another black laugh that made Erik hurt all over.

He pulled Charles tighter against him, rubbing his skin as if to warm him, pressing lips to his forehead. Charles was so good at soothing Erik after a nightmare, and now that it was time to return the favor, Erik had no idea what to do. His own dreams, the ghosts of a horrible possibility, seemed pale and silly next to this, the cruelly temporary removal of a painful reality. "What can I do? Charles, tell me what you need from me. I'll do whatever you need."

Charles sounded helpless, sheepish, when he replied, "Just... just hold me. Tell me you love me."

"I love you," Erik said immediately. "More than anything. More than... dignity or honor, _much_ more than my own life. Even more than sauerkraut."

That, to Erik's relief, won a laugh, watery but real. Kraut-breath had featured prominently in their most recent argument.

"More than sauerkraut? Are you sure?"

"Mm-hmm." Erik started nuzzling his way down Charles's face, kissing his forehead, nose, cheek...

"Limburger cheese?"

"That, too." Chin, other cheek, eyelid...

"Apple strudel?"

"Don't press your luck." Erik swallowed Charles's chuckle in a delicate kiss on his mouth, which quickly ceased to be delicate when Charles grabbed Erik's hair and pulled him in deeper.

_Here_ was a kind of comfort Erik knew how to provide, and it didn't take him long to have the two of them tangled together octopus-style, kissing and stroking everything he could reach, anything that Charles had the slightest chance of feeling. When the most important part of this equation failed to respond immediately, Erik feared his efforts were about to backfire, one more reminder of Charles's losses. He changed his angle of attack -- scooting down under the covers to apply more direct attention to the problem -- and, thankfully, soon had things proceeding splendidly.

"Up here, please," Charles said breathlessly, which Erik had been expecting; Charles would get distressed, feel suddenly cold and alone if he had no one to wrap his arms around at the crucial moment. Erik let his hand take over, using his other arm to pull Charles in for a kiss -- just in time, as it turned out, and stroked his hair through the aftershocks.

Erik would have been content to leave it there, but Charles insisted on giving Erik a turn as well, which he was hardly going to argue with. By the end of it, he was struggling to breathe, face buried in Charles's hair, probably leaving bruises wherever his hands had landed (he'd lost track of that), but he was still brightly aware of the wide smile Charles was pressing into his neck.

When he had breath to speak again, he managed a blurry mumble of, "Maybe a little more than apple strudel," and fell asleep to the sound of Charles laughing.


	4. Bedroom Hymns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The origin of that bite scar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note 1: I do not endorse underage hanky-panky. However, I find it unlikely that two love-starved teenagers, largely unsupervised, neither suffering a surplus of parental guidance on the issue, would Wait.
> 
> Author's Note 2: For the interested, the song I associate with this scene is Florence and the Machine's ["Bedroom Hymns."](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RqGRJZFpkfc) Whether it actually fits thematically is up for debate, since no one seems to quite know what the song means anyway.
> 
> Author's Note 3: This is the most explicit thing I've ever written so please forgive me newbie mistakes, I am pretty much hiding under the bed in embarrassment right now.

END OF FOURTH YEAR

They would both consider it their first time, for all that they never quite got each other's clothes off.

They were both fifteen, for a few slender months, and thus had to declare a suspension on calling each other Old Man and Sugar Baby. The secrecy of their relationship, only six months in, was still naughty and exciting, but more exciting still was the thought of spending the summer at Charles and Raven's house. At the best of times, Hogwarts offered few opportunities for students from different Houses to be alone together, but at the Xavier mansion there would be only Raven, who already knew; a few servants, who wouldn't care; and Brian and Sharon, who wouldn't notice. Neither of them dared quite admit to themselves, much less each other, what they hoped the summer might bring.

The first night, it brought sleep.

Their journey from Hogwarts had been dogged by train delays, missing luggage, and a mix-up with the taxi company, with the result that the three of them didn't drag through the front doors until almost midnight. Mr.. and Mrs. Xavier would not be home until the next afternoon, but the housekeeper had stayed up for them. She gave them toast and tea, and then sent them straight to bed.

Charles, leaving his own things in the foyer, helped Erik lug his trunk up the stairs and into his room.

"Next time, my friend," he said, breathless, when at last they lowered it to the carpet, " _pack light,_ eh?"

"That was light," Erik insisted. "You're just too soft." This criticism might have held more bite, delivered from somewhere other than the depths of a pillow; Erik had collapsed facedown on the bed the moment the trunk was dropped.

"Oh, laying down," Charles said blearily. "That sounds like a fantastic idea, why didn't I think of that?"

Erik, without looking up, flopped a hand against the mattress beside him, a clear _Come here._

Charles complied, snuggling up close beside him, and was asleep within seconds.

\---

When Erik woke, it took him a moment to remember where he was – wait, yes, Charles's house, and Charles should be right beside him... but the other half of the bed was empty. Charles had apparently pulled the covers up over them at some point in the night – and taken off Erik's shoes – but the blankets were now thrown back on Charles's side, letting in a nasty draft.

The sunlight in the window was watery and grey, it couldn't be much past dawn. It occurred to Erik that, Raven being fond of sleeping until lunchtime, it was highly unlikely anyone would come looking for them for _hours._ Hours and hours.

He heard water run briefly on the other side of the bathroom door, and then Charles re-entered the room, scrubbing a towel over his face and stripped down to his underwear. At the sight of Erik with his eyes open, he smiled, slow and warm and shy, and Erik felt an answering warmth start to spread through his body.

"Come back here," he mumbled, his voice coming out sleepier than he expected. "Why'd you leave? Missed you."

Charles laughed and crawled back into the bed, pulling the covers up to their chins. "I had to go to the bathroom, Erik. Pretty sure I'm allowed to do that."

"And what if I say you're not?" Grinning, Erik rolled over on top of him, pinning his wrists. He had a moment to wonder if this was too much, but no, Charles was grinning back, arching an eyebrow.

"I could ask permission," he said.

"You could."

Charles moved, struggling just a little against the hands shackling his wrists, against the weight of Erik's body, and lifted his head to whisper right into his ear, "Please, Erik, _please_."

And Erik went hard so fast it hurt.

Charles, who could not fail to notice in their current position, stared at him a moment, eyes wide – and dilating. Erik gulped, dry-mouthed, and made an effort to loosen his now-bruising grip on Charles's wrists.

"Maybe we'd better... um..."

"Please," Charles whispered again, and the smile was back, delighted and thoroughly wicked. _"Please,_ Erik, I'm _begging_ you—"

Erik kissed him, hard and desperate, and Charles returned the favor, letting out a whispery little moan that seemed to burn through a fraying cord somewhere in Erik's mind. Six _months_ of mounting frustration, but finally they had this, no holding back. His hands moved over every inch of exposed skin, arms face neck chest ribs and back again. Charles made impatient noises as he pulled Erik's shirt over his head, and as soon as it was gone yanked Erik's head back down for another, deeper kiss. Eventually Erik's mouth strayed down his throat, and he arched up, gasping.

Erik began moving his hips, almost involuntarily, pressing himself and Charles together and even through the layers of cloth it was the most astonishing thing he'd ever felt, Charles so warm bright beautiful beneath him _"yes please oh god keep going"_ and wrapping his legs tight around Erik's waist, tighter closer harder—

Suddenly Charles tensed, trembling – nearly a spasm – and it was hard to miss what was happening, but his voice crying _"Erik Erik Erik"_ sounded more terrified than ecstatic, overwhelmed, and that frightened Erik to the core, but he shoved it down, focused on Charles, cradling his face in his hands, "I'm right here, Charles, I've got you, I love you, it's all right, I've got you"—

—with the result that his own climax caught him completely unprepared.

It seemed certain that his heart was going to stop. He couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't see, and oh it was good it was _so good_ but it was so _much_ how could he _possibly_ – he was biting, he didn't mean to but he knew he was biting down on Charles's shoulder as hard as he could, it felt like the only way to hold onto his sanity and he couldn't _stop_ –

Coming down from it felt like waking slowly from the best and worst dream of his life, the world trickling back into focus. He was conscious of a peculiar bonelessness in his limbs, all liquid warmth, and sparks travelling intermittently across his skin, and oh god blood in his mouth – Charles was _bleeding_.

"Charles," he choked, trying to scramble away. "I'm sorry."

But Charles rolled over to follow him, pull him back so they were lying side by side. He smiled dreamily. "We both survived," he said. "What do you know."

"Charles... Your shoulder. I'm so sorry."

Charles laughed, tenderly wiping the blood from Erik's lip and kissing him, deep and drowsy. "Don't be sorry. I'm kind of hoping it'll scar."

Erik went a little light-headed then, because that was possibly the hottest thing anyone had ever said in the history of the human race, and he couldn't bring himself to object when Charles wound his arms and legs solidly around him, tucked Erik's head under his chin, and drifted back to sleep.


	5. Romantic History

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The awkward romantic-history conversation.

TEN MONTHS AFTER "THE BETTER MEN"

The new school year would start in a week, and they had spent most of the day in frantic preparation – inventorying classroom supplies, ordering food, coordinating the cleaning and decorating crews – and then just after lunch, a pipe had burst in the laundry. _That_ disaster left them both soaking wet, chilled and soapy-sticky, and no one had begrudged their taking their leave to go clean up.

'Cleaning up' had turned into a shared shower, which had turned into Erik carrying Charles out of the bathroom, still sopping wet, and throwing him onto the bed.

"I take back what I said earlier," Charles said, afterward, still breathless and laughing. "I think the term is going to get off to _great_ start."

Erik's chuckle was sleepy, eyes half-lidded as he drew absent curls and circles on Charles's still-damp chest. "Have I mentioned that you have the most gorgeous skin I've ever seen?"

"You have, actually. Though it does beg the question of how many other people's skin you've seen." His eyes widened suddenly. "Oh. Oh, dear. I finally brought that up, didn't I?"

"You did, damn your eyes," Erik said lazily.

"Well, we had to have the awkward romantic-history conversation sometime, you know. Ten years apart and all."

"If we must." Erik made a visible attempt to wake up, rubbing his eyes and propping himself up on one elbow. "I'll let you go first, since you brought it up."

"Splendid," Charles said drily. "There's not much to tell about me, honestly. You already know about Moira. There was another girl, about three years after graduation. Gabrielle. That lasted a couple months and then she fell madly in love with someone else, and... I didn't mind it as much as I thought I would. I was... lonely, and she'd been good company, and I missed that. But I didn't miss _her_ so very much, if that makes sense."

"Mm." Erik kissed his hair absently. "No men?"

"No. Well, a date or two, but I realized very quickly that that wasn't going to... They weren't you, you see. With women, I didn't have to have _expectations,_ but with men all I could see was that they weren't you." He twined his fingers with Erik's, pressed a kiss to each knuckle. "Your turn."

"No men for me either. I don't know why. I just didn't meet any that I felt that way about. And precious few women, for that matter." Though it hadn't stopped him from having that strange phase, after Magda, where for months he hunted bed partners with an intensity bordering on the grim, as if sex could equal love if only he had _enough_ of it... He'd grown sick of himself soon enough, and ended the sordid game as suddenly as he'd begun it – gotten tested for everything under the sun and thrown his box of condoms in the trash. "The only important one was Magda," he said now, which was true enough. "She was – you're not going to believe this. She was a Muggle."

Charles stared in amused disbelief. "You dated a _Muggle? YOU?"_

"Yes, and let me tell you what a horrific mistake it turned out to be—"

"But _how_ did – how amazing was this Muggle woman, to catch your interest to begin with?"

"Well, she was German, to start with. It was... listening to her talk was like... like dreaming of home." He was startled to feel his eyes begin to prickle; he'd thought all he had of Magda now was bitterness. "She was beautiful, too, like a deer, delicate, all big dark eyes and long, elegant legs.... and she was smart, and funny, always had something witty and outrageous to say, and she distracted me from... from missing you." He had to stop, then, and kiss Charles, wind fingers into chocolate-colored hair, remind himself that yes, Charles was here, with him, they were together. "She didn't know about my magic," he said, when the bleak decade without Charles was once again relegated to memory. "I was still trying to figure out how to tell her when we were... accosted on a street corner. Some young idiots in masks, demanding our wallets. I defended us. With magic. I... may have reacted a bit strongly."

"I can well imagine," Charles muttered, and thankfully did not actually remark on Erik's parents' deaths in what he'd believed, until recently, to be an ordinary mugging. "You didn't kill anyone, I hope?"

"I don't think so."  
Charles did not look reassured. "I'm going to take a leap and assume Magda didn't take this well."

"'Ran screaming into the night' about sums it up." He tried to keep the words light, but feared his voice gave it away. "I tried to talk to her... When she actually pulled a gun on me, I decided it was time to move on."

Charles rubbed a hand over his shoulder, soothing. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be." Erik gripped Charles around the middle and rolled over, dragging Charles on top of him to kiss him, long and sweet. "I'd rather have you."


	6. Fan Art

"Better Men" fan art!!!

[Cover Image](http://amarriageoftrueminds.tumblr.com/post/21249981073/the-better-men-x-men-first-class-harry-potter) by AMarriageOfTrueMinds

[Cover Image](http://heresieirisee.tumblr.com/post/15853590960/thebettermen) by Heresieirisee

Also by Heresieirisee, [an illustration from Chapter 2](http://heresieirisee.tumblr.com/post/11178254249/welp-fanart-of-a-fanfic-of-a-fanart-of-a-mix-of)

Not exactly art, but a [bracelet](http://turtletotem.tumblr.com/post/17694082221/quit-being-a-dick) giving Erik life advice.

By the amazing Palalife, some [schoolboy smooching](http://palalife.tumblr.com/post/17063147184/charles-erik-in-hp-au-want-to-rec-a-good-hp-au)

And an illustration from [Chapter 20](http://elsian.tumblr.com/post/17068265133/fanart-for-the-better-men-found-here)

Our lovely [Divination professor](http://nanihoosartblog.tumblr.com/post/21409882346/nanihoo-welcome-to-divinations-by-nanihoo-for)! Also on [DeviantArt](http://nanihoo.deviantart.com/gallery/#/d4qtl99).

And also by Nanihoo (the same artist as the above) -- [flashback!Cherik](http://turtletotem.tumblr.com/post/22956532527/nanihoo-turtletotem-nanihoosartblog-a)! And also on [DeviantArt](http://nanihoo.deviantart.com/art/A-Steady-Mind-and-Cunning-Folk-300957764).

AND OH MY GOSH [LOOBEEINTHESKY](http://loobeeinthesky.tumblr.com/post/24690654292/this-is-the-younger-charles-and-erik) DID ART!

Yuuyamiartist drew Erik and Charles [at the Masquerade](http://yuuyamiartist.tumblr.com/post/50062420451/a-scene-from-the-brilliant-turtletotems) \-- it's gorgeous!

RunawayMarbles has done a really awesome cover for _The Better Men_ [here on tumblr](http://runawaymarbles.tumblr.com/post/106005545562/marvel-covers-the-better-men-71k) or [here on AO3](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3111302).

Thacmis illustrated the [post-masquerade kiss](http://thacmis.tumblr.com/post/115083811681/fic-recs-illustration-for-the-better-man-by) absolutely GORGEOUSLY! I could explode.


	7. Surprise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two years after the ending of _The Better Men,_ Erik gets surprising news from an old friend.

"I won't go if you don't want me to."

"Don't be ridiculous, Erik." Charles eased the letter out of his husband's grasp with one hand, cupping his face with the other. "I think it might do you good. Give you some closure."

Erik absently covered that hand with his own, pressing it closer. "And after all, I've learned how to deflect bullets in case she pulls a gun on me again." 

***

He hadn't seen Magda in over a decade, but she didn't look much different; still doe-eyed and long-legged, elegant in a white-trimmed black coat. Her hair was short and sleek now, but it suited her well. She stared unseeing toward the group of children playing on the jungle gym some little ways from the park bench, very still but for the long hands that twisted absently in her lap. That familiar nervous gesture brought an unexpected pang. Great Merlin, he had loved her so much once.

"Sorry I'm late," he said gruffly, standing uncertainly before the bench with his hands in his coat pockets. It felt strange to be in Muggle clothes, after so long in wizards' robes; his slacks seemed no protection at all against the early-autumn damp.

Magda snapped instantly out of her reverie. "Quite all right," she said, and the German in her voice had softened significantly from what he remembered. "The coffee's still hot. Black, one sugar?"

"Good memory," he said, taking the proffered cup and sitting beside her. They each sipped their coffee, Magda's eyes wandering between the playing children and curious, pensive glances at Erik himself.

"I'm glad you came, Erik," she said after a minute. "I wouldn't have blamed you for refusing, after the way we… parted."

"Can I assume I'm in no danger of being shot this time?"

He'd been attempting to joke, but her reaction was a grimace of pain.

"I'm so sorry about that, Erik. I can't tell you how ashamed I've been, over the years – you may well have saved my life that night, and in response…"

"You didn't know magic existed," Erik said reluctantly. "You were afraid."

"I was utterly terrified. I thought surely one of us was mad. I'm so sorry. Can you forgive me?"

Erik gave a slow, heavy sigh. "Yes. I think so. I've been… working on decreasing my negativity." It sounded even sillier from his mouth than from Charles's, but at least it got Magda to relax a shade, a smile flashing across her face.

"What are you doing these days?" she asked. "It took some doing to track you down. Finally got your work address but not the name of the company."

"Not a company, a school. I'm teaching. Teaching magic, in fact."

At that she laughed, her face full of disbelief. "That's… entirely unexpected."

"I entirely agree. But I'm going into my third year, with no plans to stop. It's proven surprisingly rewarding."

"You're happy, then?"

"Yes." He cleared his throat, pulled his left hand from his pocket to display the gold ring. "And married."

She smiled. "Oh, good. Me, too, six years ago. His name is Steve, he's a U.S. Army captain. Wonderful man. We're very happy together."

"I'm glad to hear that." In fact, he was much happier to hear it than he would have expected. There was both relief and pleasure in knowing Magda had moved on as successfully as he had.

"What about you, who's the lucky lady?"

Erik cleared his throat again, even more awkwardly than before. "Gentleman, actually. You remember me talking about my friend Charles?"

Magda sat back with an expression of dawning realization and glee. "You know, I always thought there was something you weren't telling me, about all that mess... That actually explains a lot. A _whole_ lot. Wait…" She cackled suddenly, so loudly Erik jumped. " _He_ was the high school sweetheart, wasn't he? He _was!_ Oh, Erik. I'm so happy for you, Erik. I know losing him just about killed you. I'm so glad for you both."

"Thank you," Erik said, and was quite certain he didn't want to know what aspects of his behavior had suddenly been so illuminated. "So, since you're clearly not trying to get me back, why did you want to meet? Just to apologize?"

"Not _just_ that." Her grin faded into a nervous bite of her lips. She was looking across the park again, at the children. "Erik, do you see that little girl there, in the green pinafore dress?"

"Yes…" The girl in question looked to be about ten, with long dark hair in a braid, laughing as she raced another child across the monkey bars.

"That's my daughter Anya." She took a deep breath. " _Our_ daughter Anya. And her Hogwarts letter arrived last week."


	8. Too Much Information

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If this 'verse's Charles had been a Legilimens...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Though I’ve second-guessed the decision off-and-on since then (for instance, going back and revising Raven into a Metamorphmagus), I pretty much deliberately translated mutant powers wholesale into magical ones, without trying to preserve the particulars of their powers. Things might have turned out very differently had TBM!Charles been able to read TBM!Erik’s mind — but maybe not in a good way… (prompted by hystericalwoman838 on tumblr [here](http://turtletotem.tumblr.com/post/99192086761/too-much-information)).

Hank might be only a second year with the social skills of a baby giant, but even he knew that this wasn’t precisely typical – a Ravenclaw prefect and a Slytherin Quidditch player staring across the Great Hall at each other any time they thought the other wasn’t looking. The way they flinched if the other looked back, the way Charles looked so pale and tired and sad and angry at the same time… Charles even needed a shave, which Hank hadn’t realized he was old enough for. What was going on?

"Hey, Raven," Hank whispered, fussing with his Ravenclaw scarf, "I thought Charles and Erik Lehnsherr were friends?"

"They were," Raven shrugged. "Pass the treacle tart, would you?"

"They were? Well, what happened?"

"Treacle tart!"

"Fine, here!"

Raven helped her plate, then glanced at him under her lashes and sighed heavily. “So you know how Charles has been having special lessons with Professor Grey? He’s a natural Legilimens. It kept popping up on him accidentally so they’re teaching him how to control it.”

"Wow, that’s amazing!" Hank knew Legilimency was a rare and very valuable talent. "What does that have to do with Lehnsherr, though?"

"Charles… overheard some stuff Erik never meant him to hear. Stuff about Muggleborns being nasty and stupid and worthless and they shouldn’t be allowed to be here. Something like that."

And Charles was Muggleborn. Hank winced.

"It might make a difference if he apologized," Raven murmured. "But he won’t. He says Charles had no business being in his head anyway."

"He won’t have to worry about that anymore," said Charles, and they both jumped; they hadn’t thought he was close enough to hear them. "Erik Lehnsherr is a monster, and I’m never going inside his head again." Leaving his food all but untouched, he got up from the table and stalked out of the Hall; Hank watched Lehnsherr’s eyes follow him, full of a sadness that shaded quickly to anger.

Erik seemed to spend most of his time with his Quidditch teammates after that, most of them purebloods who liked to pick on anyone who didn’t meet their genealogical standards; Charles got more and more involved in defending the victims of their bullying. To Hank’s knowledge, aside from shouted arguments and even fistfights in the corridors, Charles and Erik never spoke to each other again.


End file.
